of the time at the wrong end! Mebbe they are
old--you can't kill off folks same's you can a strain of cattle. They
don't do nothin', Miss Anne, that's it--they don't do nothin'. They're
just shiftless, no-good folks. Old Dan'l don't work--never did, and
his pa before him. And that Eric--he was worst of all!"

"Who was Eric?" begged Nancy.

"Old Dan'l's son and as bad a boy as ever tormented a neighborhood.
But no one knew he'd be anything but no-good, and he wasn't. Ran off
to sea. Folks never heard much 'bout him, but they knew they wouldn't
hear anything good, anyway. Then, sudden-like, he turns up with two
young 'uns. Brought 'em to old Dan'l to keep. One was a girl and the
other, a baby in his arms, was a boy."

Freedom folks had never lost their enjoyment in this episode of Eric
Hopworth's adventurous life. B'lindy, happy now in her tale, made the
most of it.

"I guess there were a lot of stories 'bout them young uns, but old
Dan'l never made a sign 'bout which was true. And Eric Hopworth went
off's suddenly as he come, leavin' those two more Hopworth's for old
Dan'l to feed and bring up, and for the folks 'round here to watch,
unless they wanted all their apples stolen and their chickens killed!
Mis' Tubbs told Mis' Sniggs that she _see_ a marriage certificate and
that the mother'd been one of them actor-women down in New York and she
thought like's not the woman died when the boy was born. Mis' Jenkins
sez _she'd_ heard other stories over in North Hero! Anyways old
Dan'l's as close-mouthed as a stature!"

"And who's Liz?" asked Nancy.

"Old Dan'l's half-sister. He brought her over from Bend after the
young 'uns came, to do for 'em."

Nancy mused for a moment. There was not much use in telling B'lindy
that she was going to call upon Liz--it would take days and days of
argument to overcome the heritage of prejudice in B'lindy's mind.
Perhaps, for the present, she had better keep Nonie in the orchard.

It had not needed B'lindy's description for Nancy to recognize the
Hopworth dwelling, if by such a name could be called the four
weather-beaten walls hanging crazily together as though by a last nail.
A litter of debris cluttered the bare ground around the house and
between the shed and the unused barn. Back of the shed an old man
slouched in the sun.

The door sagged on its one hinge, partly open. When Nancy knocked a
gaunt, slatternly woman, in the room within, turned with a scowl.

As